


A Mother's Love

by orphan_account



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Harry Potter was Raised by Other(s), Harry potter is happy, Ignoring The Ancient One's Death Since 2016, It's Way Before She Dies But Honestly I'm Not Putting Harry Through That, Sorcerers Are Cooler Than Wizards, The Ancient One Is The Mother Figure We Need And Deserve, The Ancient One Lives, at least mostly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-07-09 01:49:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19879621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Ancient One, taken by the grief of not stopping Voldemort before he could cause harm, decides to raise Harry outside the shadow of the Wizarding World and his parent's death.





	1. One October Night(Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> This is it. The WORST possible au I could have come up with. Please insult me in the comments below!

It was a pleasantly cool night in England, with plenty of stars shining overhead and a waxing crescent moon just barely visible in the sky. Godric’s Hollow was blissfully quiet as a woman in a yellow robe strode down the sidewalk, making next to no sound save for the soft tap-tap-tap of boots on the concrete. 

On the outside, all seemed peaceful to the Sorcerer Supreme. Naught a branch nor snowflake was out of place, everything serenely put together on the calm October night. But the Ancient One knew better. For just down the road great darkness arose in the shape of a black curl of smoke, rising out a window and into the night air, unaware of the one witness to it’s escape. A child’s magic cried out in sorrow, the sobs barely audible from the now open window. The feel of death was strong within the nearby magic, echoing of dark spells and bitter hatred. 

The Sorcerer Supreme picked up her pace. 

When she arrived at the opened door of a rather quaint looking house, she was nearly taken aback by the sheer _grief_ that permeated the air. A man’s body lay on the floor of the living room, arms splayed out over his head and empty, soulless eyes gazing blankly at the ceiling. The yellow-clad sorcerer showed little reaction to the body, save for walking over and bowing her head before shutting his eyes. Now was not the time to lament just what she could have prevented. When she finished paying her respects to the first dead, she made her way up the stairs. Residual magic lingered all the way up, tears involuntarily springing to the corners of her eyes. She felt her heart sink to her stomach when the trail of magic leads to the ajar door of a nursery. 

_Of all the Gods above and below,_ she thought, _please let the child be uninjured._

From the hallway, she could make out the shadow of a woman’s body. Walking swiftly down the hall, she opened the door all the way. She felt a tear slip down her cheek and brushes it away with her sleeve. The woman, clearly the child’s mother, suffered the same fate as her husband. Her eyes were half-lidded, blankly staring at a spot on the wall. The sorcerer kneeled down to shut them, bowing her head and paying her respects as she did to the man downstairs. The child’s cries had silenced when she entered the house, but a quick look in the crib made her exhale in relief. The child, a young boy, was still alive. His forehead bore a lighting mark, still bleeding, a drop of blood drying in one eyebrow. Big blue eyes stared sadly up at her, tears silently rolling down the infant’s cheeks. Her heart, ancient and hardened from many years of experience, broke at the sight. 

She concentrated past her own grief and the magic-amplified emotions of the murder to pull at her magic. The Ancient One felt her voice become sweeter, a calming aura washing away all other emotions in the room. Gingerly, as to not frighten the poor boy, the sorcerer cupped his cheeks and wiped away his tears. 

“I am very sorry, little one,” spoke the Sorcerer Supreme as she felt her magic worm it’s way through the child soul. A mark had been left, both physical and spiritual, and she could not help but blame herself and her poor timing. If only she had been faster in tracking the dark force that terrorized this family, they may have continued their lives. She knew that someone would be coming soon, however, feeling panic and shame rise in her gut. Her mind conjured images of all those she left behind, of all those she couldn’t save. Glassy eyes and betrayed faces surfaced, and words came to her in the cool night air. 

_Not another._

Perhaps fate decreed it, perhaps her conscience demanded it, either way, it didn’t really matter. Though her arms retracted from the face of the child, she kept her calming magic in the air. Turning to the open windows, she adjusted the grip on her sling ring and focused once more. Muscle memory took over as her hands made a familiar circle. Golden sparks began the makings of a portal, Kamar-Taj’s courtyard pictured strongly in her mind’s eye. When the spell was done, there stood her home, the barest hints of dawn just peeking over the building walls through her small conjured window. She takes a deep breath and turns back to pick up the orphaned child and carry him where both his mind and soul could be healed. 

_Harry Potter_ , whispers the nothingness. Even with tragedy and dark magic in the air, she manages to smile as she balances the boy, _Harry_ , on her hip. Nepal’s warmer air washes over her tired body when she steps through the portal, the sun just rising to greet her good-morning. It is a beautiful sight, maybe a good omen. No matter what, this child would not grow in the shadow of his parent’s demise. No, he would live here, far from the dark wizard who wished death upon him, far from those who would not know how to heal the wound on his soul. The Ancient One bowed her head to look at the face of her new charge as the portal closed behind them, the last flakes of golden light reflected in the boy’s eyes. He smiled up at her and giggled, and she could not help but smile back. 

In the light of the dawn, the Ancient One felt grief, anger at herself and at the world. But she also felt love and reassurance, knowing that perhaps all would be well. Something in her whispered, quietly, as though it could be heard aloud: 

_Redemption._


	2. Another Day In Kamar-Taj

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kamar-Taj's resident mother and son go through a normal day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again, boyos.

Kamar-Taj is bustling with activity, students and masters running to and fro carrying out their daily duties. Magic is abuzz in the air, as usual, creating the familiar atmosphere the Ancient One had spent many years perfecting. Harry, the boy she had taken in five years ago, was curled against her side as she sat to have breakfast. The monastery had taken a liking to him when she first brought him to be healed. The darkness on his soul was barely a sliver of what it once was. Even his scar had faded with time and effort, now barely an indent on his forehead. It was hardly a few months of him residing in her home that she had come to see him as a son. He began to refer to her as “mom” fairly early on, and she took pride in the fact that he cared for her so. 

She passed him a cup of tea and a plate of tarkari before taking any for herself. Today would be rather busy for her, so the Sorcerer Supreme took the time to eat with her son before her duties began. In all likelihood, he’d be off bothering the librarian’s apprentice. The boy’s name was Wong and had come into Harry’s good graces when he began teaching him languages. The boy wasn’t very far along, but was intelligent and worked hard. The Ancient One was happy he found friends in the other apprentices. A slight tug on her sleeve interrupted her thoughts, she looked down to Harry’s face as he wiped some tea from his chin. 

“Mom? When can I train with everyone else?” 

The question was hardly a surprise, he’d grown up in a place where he saw people practice all kinds of training daily, both mystical and ordinary. She knew if he lived here, he would be expected to train as well. She did worry, though, that his natural magic would conflict with the Mystic Arts taught in their monastery. 

“Perhaps later today, I can introduce you to a student of mine. Her name is Kija, I believe she could start you with lessons on martial arts. She is also fluent in Xhosa if that is a language you wish to pursue.” 

Kija was a prospering student of hers, who’s mother left Wakanda with her when she was a child. The woman was rather average in the Mystic Arts, but could not be beaten when it came to physical fights. Though barely twenty-four, she proved herself a masterful martial artist in her years of training in Kamar-Taj. The Ancient One knew she would soon take on an apprentice in the coming years, a young man by the name Karl Mordo she saw in a vision, but certainly could assist in training her son when she was busy elsewhere. 

Now presented with the opportunity to begin his training, Harry jumped excitedly from his seat to grin brilliantly at her. He bombarded her with questions as to when he could start, what else he could learn, and if he would train with weapons. She laughed lightly, smoothing down a loose strand of his hair, and calmly spoke to him. 

“No, you will not begin with weapons. Until you are taller, they would hinder you more than help you. I will introduce you to Kija today, but your training might not start until the end of the week.” She stated, smiling gently at him. This calmed him enough to finish his breakfast whilst speaking of all the new things Wong would be teaching him today. Apparently, they had started with Chinese, with it being Wong’s native language, and there was a myriad of other tongues he wanted to learn in the coming weeks. She felt a bubble of pride rise in her chest as she recognized her own ambition in his eyes. Her son was much like her when she was a student. Once the two had finished eating, they hugged and went their separate ways, with Harry running off ahead of her to the library. 

Yes, she thinks to herself, today will be a good day. She just has to get through several lessons first. 

\----------

Harry is  _ thrilled _ . 

He gets to start training! Maybe not magically, but that’s alright. He’d been watching the martial artists work for a while and always wanted to try, no matter how hard it looked. All the spins and kicks and punches looked really impressive. He’d also seen Kija fight before. They hadn’t met yet, but she was really hard to miss on the training field. Mom was the absolute best. 

He spent his day in the library with Wong, as he usually did. The apprentice studied under the current librarian, a man named Samraj. The two worked well together, even if Wong would much rather read than organize books. Harry had worked really hard with his friend these past few weeks, and even managed to impress his mom with all the Chinese he learned! But today hadn’t been a day for learning, oh no, it was for bugging him with all the questions his six-year-old mind could come up with on what training was like. Did you get tired? When could you train? How long would he train for? 

Wong was not pleased but tried to answer them as best he could. Eventually, the two actually got back to Harry learning Chinese. Eventually. It was rather fun, really, having a (semi-broken) conversation in Chinese whilst they organized the library. It was just after lunch when his mother came and picked him up from the library, her bright yellow robes a stark contrast from the browns and blacks of Kamar-Taj’s walls. He liked how colorful she was. As per usual, he whirled away from his current conversation to run as fast as his legs could carry him to the library’s entrance and hug his mom in a vice grip. She laughed as the librarian scolded him on running and hoisted him up into her arms. 

“How has your day been, little dragon?” She asked, brushing several strands of his hair behind his ears. 

As she took him away from the library and out into one of the monastery’s smaller courtyards he talked about his day with Wong, about how his Chinese was getting better and how excited he was to start training. The courtyard they ended up in was a really pretty place, filled with a fountain, some benches, and lots of plants. He didn’t think he’d ever been to this one before. Though his curiosity and want to look around was quickly squashed when he saw the woman sitting on a bench to his left. 

“Ah, Kija, I see you made it just on time.” 

The woman, Kija, stood up and strolled over to them just as his mother set him down. He wanted to ask her all sorts of questions but knew he had to be polite. So he filed his questions away for later and eagerly looked up at his new teacher. She was really tall, taller than his mother, her hair in lots of braids with a scar across her left cheek. Kija looked even scarier up close then when he’d seen her on the rooftops! She and his mother made a bit of small talk before turning their attention back to him, Kija tilting her head and grinning. 

“So this is my new student?” She asked, raising an eyebrow at his mom. 

“Indeed he is, I expect the two of you will get along well.” 

That they did, his mom leaving him for a bit to get acquainted with his new teacher. She was actually really nice, letting him sit on her shoulders as she took him on a tour of where he’d be training. He made sure to ask her lots and lots of questions, most of them relevant. By the end of it, however, he’d forgotten half the answers. But, what was important was she promised to teach him Xhosa, told him the story of how she got her scar (her relic, Dragonfang, had been thrown at her during a break-in before he arrived), and had even seen the tattoo she had on the inside of her lip. Apparently, that’s what told people she came from Wakanda. Not that he really had a good idea as to what Wakanda was, but that was a topic for another day. 

When he’s finally brought back to his mom’s side, it’s late in the evening. He and Kija just started practicing that day and he was really worn out. It felt nice to sit down for dinner with his mom before bed, Harry talking lots about Kija and how cool martial arts was. His mom just hummed whenever something interesting came up, smiling at him behind the rim of her teacup. It was times like these he realized just how much he loved her. 

When bedtime finally came, mom tucked him in and sat by his bedside. It had been a tradition since he was tiny for her to sing a lullaby called Pais Dinogad to him. She said it was a song her parents sung to her when she was little. He liked her voice, even though he didn’t speak much Welsh (something he’d have to fix, maybe he’d ask her in the morning). 

He was quickly off to sleep, his mother kissing his forehead and bidding him goodnight. All was well in Kamar-Taj, the last hint of the sun setting to the slowing down of the monastery as the Sorcerer Supreme walked back to her own room. Another day would begin tomorrow, and the happiness her son brought to her life warmed her heart even in the chill of the night air. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just saying if you leave me nice comments I will cry.


	3. The Hunt For A Relic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and his mother wander a bit in search of his tenth birthday gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The time has come for me to twist Dr. Strange canon to my needs.

On a relatively mild summer day in Kathmandu, Harry wakes to his tenth birthday. 

Now, normally his birthdays were relatively quiet. Just like his mother, he didn’t place too much value on material possessions, so he usually spent his birthdays on a quiet outing with his mom. The fact she had mastery over sling rings made them a lot more fun, they once had tea on top of Mount Everest (with, of course, the help of a few spells). The only gift he ever got was from Wong on his ninth birthday. It was a bright yellow scarf with plenty of protective runes. He liked the scarf, the yellow made him and his mom match. 

But today was special. His mom promised last year that his tenth birthday was when he could choose a relic. Well, be chosen _by_ a relic. They were finicky. He was up and getting ready much earlier than usual as a result of his excitement. At least the extra time let him put more effort than usual into his day-to-day wear. Not that he really cared about what he looked like (a trait he inherited from his mother), but it was nice to be prepared. 

The most tedious part of his morning routine was his hair. It was wild and horribly unruly, his mom is the only one to ever successfully tame it. Going just past his shoulders, it was usually tied back with a simple ribbon. Today, however, he rifled through his small amount of things to find some hairpins. They took a bit of work to put in, but let it never be said that Harry slacked off. Besides, today was special and hairpins had better luck keeping his hair out of his face. He dressed in a simple robe he usually wore, but let it hang a little looser because he didn’t have to train today. 

Mom was waiting for him to have breakfast together, as she usually did, but was no less excited than he was. They both ate rather quickly, even for the simple breakfast they usually had and were promptly off to scour the relic halls until he found his match. 

Though a question burned in his mind as they walked around, his mom just a few steps behind him. He turned and tilted his head up at her, a stray hair falling into his face.

“Mom, how am I supposed to know when my relic picks me?” 

She gave a little laugh before answering, “You’ll just know. Trust me, little dragon, you will find your relic.” 

He just nodded and turned back to his search, making sure to visit every case and display. If his mom said he’d find it, he would. She had a knack for just sort of knowing things. 

\----------

She nearly did a double-take when she saw her son on the morning of his tenth birthday. Nothing was amiss, but he was just so _big._ It was practically yesterday that he was a little boy clinging to the fabric of her robes. The Ancient One knew he would grow to be an excellent person, but had hardly anticipated just what he would achieve. Her original worries proved to be unfounded as Harry prospered physically, mentally, and magically. Initially, she believed his natural magic due to him being a wizard would conflict with his learning of the Mystic Arts. Her reasoning being that it had reacted rather unfavorably when the arts were used to heal the dark marks on his soul leftover from the killing curse. Perhaps this period of healing was what benefited him in the end, allowing his magic to become accustomed to things other than itself. Harry’s magic worked in tandem with the Mystic Arts, allowing him to possess a natural strength even the most gifted of her students didn’t possess, and she was all the prouder for it. 

When they walked through the Chamber of Relics in Kamar-Taj, she was reminded of just how diligent her son was. Even if the relic he looked at didn’t choose him, he just moved on to the next without complaint. According to Master Samraj, Harry inherited his hardworking nature from her, along with her stubbornness. He is an absolute wonder and she loves him with all her heart and soul. 

They move on quickly from Kamar-Taj to the Hong Kong sanctum, and from there to New York. Harry doesn’t have any luck with either, the lack of results starting to get to him. She just smiles down at him and places a comforting hand on his shoulder, saying she feels something special about the London sanctum. This is enough to get him back on track, excitedly walking around London’s Chamber of Relics until abruptly coming to a complete stop in the middle of the room. 

He’s found his relic, a proud, delighted smile blossoming on the Sorcerer Supreme’s face as he turns to ask her all sorts of questions about it. 

\----------

Finding relics was much harder than he thought. 

What did she mean by “he’d just know”? They had practically gone all the way around the world and he still didn’t have any luck! There were dozens of cases filled with dozens of relics, and not a single one stood out to him. He’d just finished walking around the New York sanctum when he dejectedly looked up at his mom. Was she disappointed in him? If things continued as they were, he’d certainly be disappointed in himself. Relics were very important to Sorcerers, all his years' training with Kija proved that much. You could hardly separate her from Dragonfang. 

When a hand was placed on his shoulder, he knows his mom is smiling down at him. She smiles at him a lot and he smiles at her a lot, but right now it did little to comfort him. 

“I believe London will give you better luck, little dragon.” 

And there it was. The voice she used when she _knew_ something. Harry knew for a long while she could see into the future, she had to. No one else he’d ever met could predict stuff as she could. He stands just to the side of her as she conjures another portal with her sling ring, the golden sparks giving way to the London sanctum. He feels something akin to an itch in the back of his mind but ignores it, for now, to follow his mom to London. Maybe they can get tea afterward, England was famous for it after all. 

Harry’s about halfway through the relics, crossing to the other side of the room, when he feels something. There were no words to really describe it, other than a feeling. He turned to his right, a bunch of displays showing various weapons when he gets the feeling again. Like he’s supposed to do something but he doesn’t know what. 

_Call for me._

He doesn’t really hear the voice, not like he hears sound. The words just sort of popped into his head, prompting him to take in the wall of weapons with a keener eye. There’s a couple of staves, two swords, and…

A dagger. 

Its silver blade shines totally unlike the others, seeming to hum with magic in the ways the other weapons don’t. It catches his eye, and before he can even take a step towards it, the thoughts return to his head with a bit more force. 

_Call for me._

So he takes a deep breath, hoping that this works, and softly speaks. 

“Come.” 

The dagger shoots off the display like a bolt of lighting. His training kicks in, muscles remembering every time Kija threw something at him to catch, and his hand comes up to block the blade. But it doesn’t hit him, with the force it flew at him, he expected it to. Instead, its handle ends up perfectly gripped in his palm, the dagger’s magic seeming to hum contently as it’s held. He’s found his relic. 

The knowledge of what just happened hits him a few seconds later. Before he knows it the dagger is tucked into his belt and he’s hugging his mom, mumbling questions into the fabric of her robes. She hugs him in return and introduces him to his new relic. The Silver Dagger, an incredibly deadly piece of weaponry that comes when called. 

Today was a good birthday, and he can’t wait to get back to Kamar-Taj and show off his new dagger. It fits snugly in his hand, and Harry couldn’t have been happier. He wonders what next year will bring. 

\----------

She takes him out for tea afterward, to celebrate, answering all his questions on his new dagger. The Ancient One was hardly surprised he inherited such a powerful weapon, it suited him. The only thing that bothered her was the continued countdown to his eleventh birthday. There was no ethical way to _avoid_ his Hogwarts letter. She had a bad feeling that no matter how entwined he was with the branches of magic Sorcerers used, he was born a wizard and thus the magical world would find him. It would be his choice in the end, whether or not he wanted to go to Hogwarts. Either way, she would support him, because no matter what he would still be her son. The Wizarding World would not change that. 

It’s sitting at a small London cafe that she contemplates just how quickly her life changed. One brief moment of choice nine years ago gave her the greatest joy she had ever experienced. She sips her tea and takes in her son’s face, glowing in the midday light. She wanted to hold him and keep him close, never letting the darkness that permeated his early life return. She never wanted Voldemort or any other witch or wizard come close to what was hers. 

And yet, how much light would the Sorcerer Supreme prevent from reaching the world if she guarded him? No student prospered under an overbearing master and she was inclined to believe the same with children. 

No matter what, he was her son first and foremost. But he was her student as well, perhaps he was destined to be one of both the magical and mystical worlds. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, explanation time! 
> 
> The Silver Dagger does actually appear in the comics, used by a man named Isaiah Curwen. However, as neither he nor his dagger makes an appearance in the movies, I'm just going to use it's canon abilities and copy-and-paste them into this story. For those curious, according to the wiki, the dagger: 
> 
> Can pierce magical defenses  
> Is especially deadly to demons, being made of silver  
> Is especially effective against magic users, capable of mortally wounding even the Sorcerer Supreme  
> Returns to its owner upon verbal command
> 
> So there you go! Harry gets a Cool Knife™ for his birthday. Also, the angst will finally make an appearance in the next chapter!


	4. Reflections and Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets a letter, and the Sorcerer Supreme reflects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess whos back lads

Harry never gave much thought to his birth family. Other than being thankful for providing his existence, their memory didn’t have much to do with his life. He was more interested in the Wizarding world as a whole than individuals. After all, he had his mom, Wong, Kija, and the rest of Kamar-Taj as his family. He didn’t need the legacy of two murdered people to define who he was. In truth, he didn’t even consider going to Hogwarts until a few months ago, the world he built within Nepal seemed so far away from Magical Britain. 

However, a thought crossed his mind recently. Accounts of people who were apart of both the mystic and magical worlds were few and far between, most incredibly outdated. Harry had been wondering just what he would do with his training and his unique position offered him an incredible opportunity: writing a book. A complete account of the Wizarding World from the perspective of a sorcerer. He’d brought up the idea to Wong one day, who told him that his position was not something to be passed over. Bringing knowledge would not only benefit the current generation of sorcerers but future generations as well. He’d made up his mind, gotten his mother’s blessing, and waited for his Hogwarts letter. 

He didn’t expect it to arrive with an elderly man in a grey robe.

\----------

The arrival of Harry’s letter had been an odd affair, to say the least. 

The man had appeared in Kamar-Taj’s main courtyard and quickly had spells drawn upon his sudden arrival. The Ancient One intervened and invited him in for tea. Oh, how she would regret her decision. No matter how polite the man appeared, his loyalties lie with someone who was clearly  _ not  _ her son. 

“He must attend Hogwarts and return to Britain. His  _ family _ resides there.” 

The Ancient One sighed to herself. No matter how much her heart twisted in her chest at the thought of being separated temporarily from Harry, she wouldn’t even entertain the idea of permanently leaving him. In all her years, she had never known someone she loved as much as him. The years she spent raising him was the brightest of her life, and no society of half-witted, classist bigots would take him from her. 

So she took a deep breath and prepared for the upcoming argument. Neither of them would raise their voice, but both had something at stake. For the Sorcerer Supreme, it was her son, her very world. For Albus Dumbledore, it was the Chosen One, the fate of the Light. Their talk was long and drawn out, but eventually, the Headmaster of Hogwarts conceded to let him remain at Kamar-Taj, though she doubted he would remain lenient for long.

The man would return, that was certain. 

\----------

It was late. 

The Sorcerer Supreme found herself sitting alone in her room, quietly attempting to meditate. Today had certainly shaken her, bringing back memories of Voldemort and his effect on the mystical world. The dark wizard and his followers had terrorized her sanctums before Voldemort was killed. The memories of his depravity haunted her still. 

_ ~~~~~~~~~~ _

_ Winter was bitter and cold in London, especially at night. The Sorcerer Supreme had visited the London sanctum and was just about ready to head back when she felt something appear outside.  _

_ Amidst several black clouds appeared figures in robes and silver masks. They did not feel like sorcerers, darkness clinging to their souls in ways she had only ever seen in one place.  _

_ Wizards.  _

_ From her position on the roof, she remained unnoticed. They are quick to attempt entry, and the Ancient One is quick to jump down to a ledge on the side of the building. Sling-Ringing would make too much noise, so she opens a window and enters the sanctum silently as she can. Many sorcerers reside within the London sanctum, though she believes she is the only witness to the wizard’s attempt at a break-in. The room she enters through is a smaller office. The lights are all off, so she pads out of the room and down the hall, encountering another sorcerer.  _

_ “We have intruders at the front door, I doubt their intentions are benevolent,” she speaks, gesturing for the young man to find his fellows and bring them. The Ancient One has little experience with wizards, her knowledge of how they fight is limited to “dirty”. She is quick to walk down the hall and to the main entryway where the wizards have just broken through the seals on the door.  _

_ They do not expect her and they are quick to start casting spells. She is quicker, however, conjuring Tao Mandalas to block the incoming sparks of bright green light. They try to skirt around her, but the protections on the sanctum weaken their magic. Three other sorcerers arrive behind her, the man she encountered in the hall among them. Though the wizards outnumber them, the sorcerers are quick to outpace them. Relics and spells fly around the room before, one by one, the wizards turn to smoke and leave out the front door. The Ancient One is not happy with this.  _

_ “One of you must guard the entryway, the other two split up and search the sanctum. I doubt they shall be felled so easily.”  _

_ A feeling of panic rises in her gut as she walks briskly down the halls. There are few things in the sanctum the dark wizards would find value in, but she knows they likely came for one tome in particular. The Book of Cagliostro has tempted many a sorcerer in ages past, the powerful spells within it would prove irresistible. She does not care to find out of wizards can understand what it contains, but she isn’t about to find out.  _

_ ~~~~~~~~~~ _

In the end, one of the sorcerers there that night had been horribly mutilated. He hadn’t been able to dodge a spell thrown at him and ended up cut to ribbons. She still blames herself for his death, these years later. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yep! It's a mess!


End file.
